Dancing in the Breath; a poem
Philos 100
Dancing in their Breath
( that youth we knew…)
by Loren Ruh Smith
He was dancing upon the precipice
Glib of tongue with laughing metaphors
Blessed of health and being hazard’s child
Seeing danger not as paradox but as prayer
Someone called after him, saying “Take care!”
His laughter echoing in the dark abyss
His humor seeming contagious, awing
Sweeping all their fears, all alarms away
There was no one wondering at what might
Seem foolhardy, for his bright appearance
Forbade assumptions of disaster’s face
In fact, precipitated joy’s song lace
And then he disappeared…
In fact, so completely, stunned moribund
They all, later, were made to wonder if
He’d been there at all or was merely a
Figment of their imaginations
He still danced in their breath…
There was nothing left to do but go home
Everyone in a state of wonderment
Everyone agitated, slept poorly
Upon rising, were still at sea, stirring
Breath’s stream, morning coffee’s cream
death’s dreaming…
Was he merely of imagination’s web, a
Weaver, or was he their own core of life
They could not gain stability on this
Rocking boat, this view seemed shoreless,
so dark
So vast, taking new kinds of intention
Purpose rekindled, as yet not defined
Drawing new kinds of creative drive from
Somewhere inside, deep, never plumbed before
Never glimpsed before, mere literary
Fantasy, fables, not applicable
On main streets, neon boulevards, one’s life…
Who was this guy… What…?
Where had he gone…? Why…?
Then their oldest dreams began to stream by
Shaking their heads as if to throw cobwebs
Off their brows, from in front of their eyes, they
Sought one another out, opened their mouths
To speak, but began to cry instead, racked
By sobbing, they looked at one another
In a new kind of wonder…sobs turned to
Laughter…but still perplexed, they, together
Sought control…no! Not control! Laughter’s heart!
They realized that their lives had been spent
Dancing at the core of black chaos thinking
They were in control, yet having lost their
Arts…their sense of living in reality
Without the grounding, the story teller’s
Truth…imbedded in their souls…in their lives
They’d gone out there to do it by themselves
Community left behind, incomplete…
Chaos’s dark brothers were dominating with
Fear & shame…the active ingredients, rather
Than Love, the Brotherhood’s Heart and Spirit
Who was this guy… What…?
Where had he gone…? Why…?
He’d gone home and was beckoning them to
Follow… He’d left many signs, many a
Message…often a core of disciples
Who’d rally their communities…but, then…
Someone would visit their “new truth” upon
An established community…old truth
Would rear up…still “true”…different dogma
Different nomenclatures…same songs…but
No window, no Qibla on the horizon
Only “my truth” myopia and savage
Prejudices proclaiming this “One Truth”
Against all other “One Truth” warriors
Yet, ever His coming proclaimed one truth:
“Do unto others as you’d have them do unto you!”
How would we have him say more? Compassion
Can not be given a clearer license
Or have higher intent:
“Love thy neighbor as thy self!”
What could be clearer, my friends…?
He is with us still…
And we know that truth…as well…
And She, who has also been denied, would agree…
She, who is the mother of us all…Gaia Sophia…
Qutbuddin Loren Ruh Smith
Qutbuddin Loren Ruh Smith: I’m 74 years old, born in Tacoma, WA and went to high school in Arcata, CA. I served in the US Army, met my first wife and had our first son in France. I started writing poetry in my first college English class in 1961. I’ve published a book called The Path to The Beloved and I have several books ready to publish. I lived in the Sierras in Grass Valley for 30 years before moving to Albuquerque, NM, last year. My book about fathers and sons called This Child and His Tree will be going to the publishers shortly.
– is a deeply personal issue that everyone decides for himself. Sometimes the price is high, sometimes low. But this is not very important for life. Life is an interesting thing. And the price on Viagra – too.
